


You Know It’s All About That...

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Series: Prowess [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian being talented, It's NOT a bass, It's a cello
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian knew his musical tastes to be more refined than those he kept company with, but <em>honestly...</em></p>
<p>Or, Dorian knows how to play cello.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know It’s All About That...

**Author's Note:**

> For a DAKM prompt: Dorian has learned a lot from his travels and has many natural talents, some that people people expect from a Tevinter mage and some that they never expected. It is not hard to see, if one has eyes, why the Altus is so confident...he has every reason to be. Physical specimen? Naturally. Gifted mage? Of course, but that is hardly the extent of his skill set.

He hadn’t really expected them to...well, to even _remotely_ appreciate the large, grandiose instrument for what it was, but Dorian had brought it to the tavern anyways. For whatever reason he’d fallen more and more in league with Sera and Bull as the weeks at Skyhold dragged on, spending his nights in the tavern with them without exception. (Late at night, if you stood on the northernmost ramparts and stilled your breath, you could just hear the faint retching noises of a distant, disappointed father. It was probably the company he was keeping. _He’s an arsehole anyways, Magebits,_ Sera had confirmed. Dorian had little to say to that but “Quite.”)

It is that same company that had gathered around him, several drinks into the evening in the mostly-deserted tavern. The Chargers are playing cards but are circled up around where the mage has draped his lithe form, four-foot-long instrument nestled against him as he tinkers. Bull has his bad leg propped on an empty chair and is watching the spectacle quietly, much like always.

Dorian's musical tastes are more refined than that of his comrades. This is not surprising. He is rusty, but he has an ear for pitch--always has. He’d been able to play a lute fluently by the time he was seven. From there, he’d branched out into bigger strings, piano, and some wind-based instruments as well (all that syncopation at least partly to blame for his ceaselessly clever tongue, no doubt). Nothing really held his attention for long.

“Whassat?” Sera is extremely drunk, bangs limp on her forehead. She hiccups and Krem bats her once, hard, on the back; the resulting belch is impressive and draws a unanimous roar of approval from The Bull’s ragtag band. “Where’d you get a bass, Magebits?” Dorian allows himself a small sigh.

"A present for the Inquisition from some well-meaning minor dignitary. Also, it isn't a bass, Sera: it’s a cello."

“Same difference!” the elf shouted and the the Scion of House Pavus rolled his eyes. 

“It is no such thing.”

"C'mon Magebits, play that bass!" Dorian glared at him as Krem grinned, amused by his own adaptation of Sera’s chiding and pet name for the mage. “You love showing off, get to it! We could use some music. Bass will do.”

"It's _not_ a bass! It's a _cello,_ you unrefined cretins."

"It's huge and all low-sounding and you use a bow, just like a--"

"The two are tuned _entirely differently_ , they are not at all the same!" Dorian’s voice rose over his irritation--good natured, admittedly, but _still_ \--though the hands he plucked at the strings with were no less competent and steady. Bull schooled his face into neutrality and hid his widening grin behind his mug. "Implying the two are the same is like suggesting that Blackwall and Bull are interchangeable. The rationale? because they use the same kinds of weapon and are vaguely the same shape, thus: sameness."

"That makes no sense," Sera said, nose wrinkled.

"--and that, my dear girl, is precisely my point." Dorian retrieved a bow from the floor at his side, giving the cello a test run. He ran a scale and a couple of warmup pieces that were ingrained in his muscle memory. Gradually he picked up speed.

It was not something you would expect, a highly accomplished band of mercenaries, their Qunari chieftain, and an eleven Red Jenny, all three sheets to the wind and yet still sitting quietly around a Tevinter Altus serenely playing a cello. That was exactly how the wee hours of the morning found them, though, the beats of the music fast and lighthearted against the uncertainty that lurked ever-present in the darkness.


End file.
